


Queens, Tarts & Useless Hearts

by titanialioness



Category: Heartless - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-it fic, Wait for it, shameless flirting, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titanialioness/pseuds/titanialioness
Summary: The Sisters offered her a deal: vengeance in exchange for her useless heart.But Cath's heart was no longer hers to give. It belonged to Jest, and a heart once given could never be taken back.





	1. Chapter 1

Jest was dead.

It was the first thought that greeted her in the morning, the last to bid her goodnight, and the only to fill every moment in between. A cruel echo of her first conversation with Jest—how he promised to make her laugh twice a day, and at least once before breakfast. 

Cath had been an utter wreck in the three days since. Time, whether in kindness or cruelty, seemed to stretch the hours endlessly and then wipe them away as if no Time had passed at all.

Abigail and Mary Ann came and went. Cath paid them no mind, except when they approached the window to draw the curtains and let in the sunlight. By now the lemon tree had grown tall enough that she could see it while laying down in bed, and she couldn’t bear to look at it. Couldn’t bear the hope of seeing a face in the window, the hope of a rose on the sill. 

Some sign,  _ any  _ sign, that all his promises of impossibilities hadn’t been empty.

Raven’s presence was her only comfort. He understood better than anyone the emptiness, the loss, the hopelessness.

On the fourth night, she dreamed of three little girls hanging in a key lime tree above her bed. Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie offering her a deal.

“We cannot bring back the Martyr, but we can bring you something else you want,” Tillie said.

Cath began to tremble. “What?”

“Vengeance,” the three girls said in unison.

“Peter Peter will never be found,” said Elsie.

“Your Raven is a murderer, but not a hunter. No one is even looking for him anymore,” said Lacie. “But Peter Peter’s wife is dead, his livelihood in shambles.”

“He is desperate. Desperate enough to find the Treacle Well,” said Tillie. “We can bring him to you, and let your justice be served.”

Cath knew they were right. The King wanted to forget all this had ever happened; he would never send out a hunting party to bring Peter Peter to justice. He would get away with everything.

Peter deserved a punishment. He deserved death.

For the first time since she’s collapsed in the mud of the pumpkin patch, Cath felt her heart stir in her chest.

“What would you want from me?”

Lacie swung her body down and plopped onto the bed linens, criss crossing her bone-thin legs. “We are ill. We have been dying for a long time. We require payments to sustain us.”

Elsie spun around to the other side of the bedpost. “A heart could sustain us for a long time. A strong heart, full of passion and courage.”

Tillie stretched forward and trailed a dirty fingernail across Cath’s collarbone. “We want the heart of a queen.”

Cath dodged away, pressing her fingers against her chest as goosebumps raced down her arms. “I am not a queen.”

Tillie grinned again. “Not yet!”

As one, the girls recited those awful, horrible words which had haunted Cath’s dreams. A reminder that although she was not queen yet, it was still a future yet to pass.

“ _ Murderer. Martyr. Monarch. Mad _ .”

For a moment, Cath let their offer sink in. No, she was not a queen yet. But she knew the king well, and knew how eager all of Hearts would be to forget this dreadful business. Perhaps she didn’t know how, but she knew she could still be crowned queen, if she wished it.

And then she could have vengeance. Vengeance sweeter than any tart, more tempting than any cake or pie or sweet she could bake.

As usual, the girls only asked for something she had no use for. Cath’s heart was broken. Useless. Wrecked and shriveled and poisoned and killing her, slowly. It would be a mercy to be rid of it.

And yet…

“I cannot accept,” Cath told the girls, as much as she wished to say otherwise. “My heart is already spoken for. It is not mine to give away.”

For as much as she wanted vengeance, as much as she wanted to swing the axe herself and see Peter Peter’s head roll across the marble tiles of the throne room…

Her heart still belonged to Jest. She had given it to him, and a heart once given could never be taken back.

“A pity,” Elsie said, her small shoulders falling. “Put perhaps a different heart will do.”

“Unfortunate indeed,” Lacie agreed. “But we will accept the heart of your Joker instead.”

“For he gave you his in exchange for yours, yes?” Tillie finished. “Not a queen’s heart, but a joker’s will do.”

Cath’s world froze. And then it flared, boiling over like caramel left too long on a stove. 

“How dare you! How dare you say such a horrible thing, you terrible little girls!” she screeched at them, rising in bed. Her vision blurred with anger as she lunged at the nearest girl, Tillie, who nimbly dodged with wide eyes. “How dare you imply Jest’s heart is useless! That I no longer have need of it! It’s all I have, the most precious of all I own.”

She lunged again at another of the girls, hot tears pouring from her cheeks. This time, she’d thrown herself with such force that when the small girl slipped from reach, Cath continued forward and barreled off the bed, slamming hard to the floor.

When she opened her eyes, the tittering girls were gone. Perhaps they’d never been there—only a dream. The key lime tree was still there though, its canopy filled with large, fist-sized fruits.

Cath lay there a moment, trembling with rage and clenched fists. Oh, she wanted Sir Peter dead. She wanted his blood splayed across the tile, across the mud. She wanted his head piked like a jack-o-lantern on his own farm. The thought of vengeance made her ravenous with desire. 

But for all her hunger to see his head roll, it was not worth the price of Jest’s heart.

Jest’s useless, dead heart.

Catherine was sobbing again as her bedroom door burst open and Mary Ann rushed to her side.

“Cath! Whatever happened? I heard a noise, and thought—” Mary Ann cut off suddenly as she took in the sight of Catherine on the floor. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with sadness. “Oh, Cath…”

The sharp sting of her pity brought some sense back to Catherine’s trembling heart. She just wanted to be away from it all, away from all this pain and sorrow.

Ever since the king’s black and white ball, her life had become an endless back and forth of unspeakable joy and sorrow, of hope and hopelessness. Well, only false hope, in the end. For no matter what strategy she attempted, no matter how she stood up for herself, no matter how she pleaded and begged, no matter which decisions she chose to make or not make… it seemed her story was always doomed to his exact ending.

_ Murderer. Martyr. Monarch. Mad _ .

But perhaps…. Perhaps, it was not yet the end.

_ Monarch. _

There was still one hope, however small. One small goodness that could come from all this, like salt added to a caramel truffle to bring out the sweetness.

Hope—terrible, painful hope—sparked in Cath’s chest.

“Cath?” Mary Ann said slowly.

Cath had forgotten she was still there. Ignoring Mary Ann, Cath spun toward the canopy of her bed, where Raven perched on a branch of the key lime tree. His head was cocked so that one beady eye watched her, curious.

“Raven!” she said, scrambling to her feet. “I know what we must do.”


	2. Chapter 2

With Mary Ann’s help, Cath was dressed and slipping unnoticed from her home within the hour.

Raven was perched on her shoulder, his talons painfully sharp and no doubt poking through her dress sleeve, but she was grateful for it. She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and let her withering broken heart kill her, but the pain of Raven’s talon was grounding. A reminder of what she was determined to do despite the dead, useless thing inside her chest. 

Mary Ann followed, but Cath ignored her. She didn’t even acknowledge the maid with a glance.

Hatta’s shop was filled with patrons when she entered, but she strode past them and straight for the curtain to Hatta’s workroom. Before she could second guess herself, Cath stepped inside, closing the curtain tight behind her.

Hatta glanced up as she entered, seemingly unsurprised. “Ah, Lady Pinkerton. Or should I say _ Her Majesty _ ?”

“I’m not a queen.”

“Not yet, perhaps. But you seem to be an expert at stealing hearts, so I trust you’ll win back the king’s favor easily enough.”

Cath scowled. She had been so wrapped up with her plans that she had forgotten how furious Hatta would be with her.

For a moment, hopelessness crept back up her throat, freezing her under his glare and nearly convincing her that her entire plan was foolishness. She needed Hatta’s help—she couldn’t accomplish her plans without him.

Raven’s talons tightened on her shoulder. The points dug into her skin, perhaps enough to draw blood, but again, she was grateful for the reminder that Raven, dear Raven, was by her side. It would be easier with Hatta, perhaps, but if he refused it would only make her more desperate. Desperate enough to find the Treacle Well herself, perhaps. 

“Bring me to Chess,” Cath demanded before that small second wind of courage could fail her. 

Laughter burst from Hatta, sharp and cruel. “Chess! Why, I’m not quite mad yet, my dear. You weren’t desperate enough before, and it cost us everything.”

“Hatta, please, this time—” 

“But perhaps that’s just it,” Hatta went on, ignoring her. “You weren’t desperate enough when it was merely Jest’s life at risk, but now that your own has fallen to shambles, you wish more than ever to save your own skin.”

“Hate me all you wish,” Cath snapped at him, “but you claimed to love him just as much as I, and I ask this for him.”

“If I don’t fall over myself to obey you, then I didn’t love my dearest friend,” Hatta mused, tapping his chin as if in thought. “Manipulative as always, aren’t you my dear?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Jest may be—may be—...” Her throat clenched up, rendering her unable to finish. “But we can still do as he wished. We can still complete his original mission and end the war in Chess.”

Hatta stared hard at her, his expression impossible to read. 

She pressed onward. “If I am doomed to be queen, at least some good may come of it. Instead of the Queen of Hearts, a Queen…  _ from  _ Hearts.”

“End the war?” he echoed thoughtfully.

“I may not have a queen’s heart to offer, but if you and Raven can guide me to the border, I can still become a queen. We can win the war for the White Queendom.”

Hatta gave a thoughtful hum, but when he spoke his tone wasn’t nearly as positive as Cath hoped. “I’m still not convinced you’ll make it to Chess at all, considering how inclined you are to frivolous whims.”

She wanted to scream at him. To yell and shake him and sob. How dare he doubt her now, when she was asking this for Jest’s sake. How dare he try to take the one speck of hope and purpose she had left.

Instead, Cath straightened her back. She steeled her voice into that of a queen—into the queen she would have to become if she wished to guide a nation to victory.

“Very well. Stay here and stew in your petty stubbornness. As I said, you’re more than welcome to hate me all you wish. Raven and I will find a way to Chess alone if we must.”

With that, Cath spun on her heel and strode from his workroom with Raven still perched on her shoulder. Mary Ann, who had waited in the main room, hurried after her.

Despite her confidence in Hatta’s shop, she honestly wasn’t sure what to do next. Was desperation the only requirement for finding the Treacle Well? Would she simply walk into the forest, desperate, and stumble upon it?

She was still mulling over it when she arrived back at Rock Turtle Cove. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Mary Ann lingering on the threshold to Catherine’s room until she spoke.

“Ca—Lady Catherine,” Mary Ann stammered, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but overhear…”

The maid shrunk back as Cath spun on her and glared.

“Bring me with you to Chess,” Mary Ann pressed, her voice quieter than before but firm. “ _ Please _ . I’ll help however I can, scrubbing floors, or… or... Wars require budgets and finances as much as anything else—perhaps I can help.”

Cath’s voice was cold. “I have no desire for your help.”

“You’re being hypocritical. Hate me all you wish, but I can help you win Jest’s war,” Mary Ann insisted.

“Don’t speak his name,” Cath hissed, and this time the venom in her voice was enough to make Mary Ann back up into the hall.

Cath stared at Mary Ann, for a moment caught up in how much had changed between them so quickly. Mary Ann’s new bonnet, Cath noticed, was nowhere to be seen. How ironic, that Mary Ann’s sensibility had caused her to betray Cath in the first place, and then her lack of sensibility had made her foolish enough to go to Peter Peter’s pumpkin patch.

However much she despaired over what had come from Mary Ann’s poor decisions, the maid was right about this much at least. Refusing Mary Ann’s help was no different than Hatta refusing to help Cath, even though they shared the goal of winning the White Queen’s war.

Catherine had promised to do this for Jest. For Jest, not herself.

“Very well,” Cath said stiffly. “But we leave today. As soon as possible.”

Mary Ann lit up. “Yes, of course. I will pack some food and supplies for the journey.”

The maid hurried away. Cath watched the girl disappear down the stairs. She hadn’t even though to pack food or supplies, but it seemed like a smart idea now. Perhaps Mary Ann would be useful after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Desperation, it seemed, truly was the only requirement to find the Treacle Well, and it was something both girls had to offer in spades. Mary Ann, desperate to atone for her choices, and Catherine, desperate to offer Jest this one final gift.

When they arrived at the well in the timeless forest, Tillie was sitting on the cobblestone ledge. Hatta was there too, standing close as if he had been speaking with the girl.

Hatta noticed them, his eyes flickering to Mary Ann and Raven before settling on Cath. He looked just as bitter and furious as he had when they parted ways in the hat shop.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, voice sour. “I’ve already paid the toll.”

Catherine glanced between Hatta and Tillie, who by all appearances, looked as if they had been waiting for her to arrive. “I thought you didn’t wish to help us.”

“I don’t. Not you, anyhow. But if risking your useless life gives the White Queendom a chance at victory, I find I would be happy with either outcome and want to be present to enjoy whichever one comes to pass.”

Cath wanted to stick her tongue out at scowl at him, but it the thought of it reminded her too much of Jest. Her chest suddenly ached, and although she thought she had no more tears to spend, for a moment she thought she would find a new hidden reserve of them. 

Raven’s weight shifted on her shoulder. Cath, grateful for her friend’s reassuring presence, managed to steel herself and nod at Hatta. They didn’t need to get along. They only had to work together.

Hatta turned back to Tillie. “And the other part of our bargain?”

Tillie’s grin turned rabid. “We’re looking forward to this part most, you know.”

Before Cath could ask what they were talking about, the two other sisters climbed out of the well, each of them holding a thick chain. Behind them, they dragged up from the well none other than Peter Peter.

The sudden appearance of him sent Cath’s thoughts reeling back to the pumpkin patch, to the last time she had seen those dark, hate-filled eyes and rage-carved face. To the mud, to slick red ink sprayed across the grass. 

Cath’s vision blurred with rage as the rest of the memory burned hotter than an oven in the cracked remnants of her heart. Raven’s talons tightened on her shoulder, the only thing keeping her from pouncing at the man.

Peter Peter’s expression burned, seething with hate to match Catherine’s own. Hate solely focused on Cath, the murderer of his wife.

“As promised,”  the three girls said in unison. “Vengeance.”

The voices broke Cath’s attention, and she tore her gaze away from Peter Peter. Hatta had struck a bargain with the girls for this. “What did it cost you?”

“It’s no concern of yours,” Hatta snapped. His posture was stiff and he did not look at Cath, his face glowering with hate at perhaps the one person he despised more than Catherine. But he was fiddling with his pocket watch, and Cath suspected she knew the price.

After she had refused the girls, they must have gone to Hatta with a similar offer. The thought made Cath’s mouth tighten with sourness toward the girls. Horrible little things. It made her suspect more than ever that they’d taken a more active role in the fulfillment of their awful drawings than they would admit.

“If you mean to kill him, I’ll do it,” Cath said, jutting her chin toward Peter Peter as her lips curled.

But Hatta scoffed. “Stuff and nonsense. Of all of us, you have the least claim to this monster’s life. Excepting perhaps your maid,” he added as an afterthought, glancing at where Mary Ann stood silent beside Cath. “Do not be so blind as to think you were the only one who loved him. You were but a speck in Jest’s life, and the one to blame for killing him just as much as this vicious oaf.”

Anger, vicious and biting and thick like bile, crawled up Catherine’s throat. But before she could burst and rage at Hatta, she realized he was not looking at her, but at Raven. Expectantly.

“His life isn’t mine to claim, either,” Hatta continued. “Raven, his oldest and dearest friend, shall have the honor. If he wishes it.”

Raven did not hesitate. He launched from Cath’s shoulders, shifting into his hooded executioner’s form in a flash of darkness. Slowly, menacingly, Raven strode toward where Peter knelt by the well.

“Murderers,” Peter Peter seethed, the hate in his eyes now mingled with fear. “Murders and thieves. You murdered my wife and yet you call us the monsters. I’ll kill you for it, I will!”

But the threat was empty. For despite the man’s size, no matter how he struggled against the grip of the girls who held him chained, he couldn’t break free.

Raven strode closer. He lifted his ax, and it’s edge glinted in the forest’s eternal twilight.

And just like that, the second of the girls’ prophecies came true.

_ Murderer. _

For a moment, all was still. Peter Peter’s glassy, empty eyes—now devoid of all emotion, all rage—stared at Cath. Eyes so much like—

Raven transformed back into his bird form, drawing Cath’s attention away from the body. She looked away, staring hard at the grass at her feet as Raven’s familiar weight settled back onto her shoulder.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I think,” Lacie said, wrapping her small, tiny fingers around one of Peter’s limp wrists.

“But we are pleased with the result either way,” Elsie finished, taking Peter’s other wrist and beginning to tug the large body toward the well.

“The broken heart of a murdered murderer will be quite sustaining indeed,” Tillie said, her nails taking hold of Peter’s neck. 

The three girls and their meal disappeared down the well.


	4. Chapter 4

The trip through the labyrinth seemed less complicated than the time before, but no less tortuous. For hours they plodded through the darkened hedges in silence, Cath tormented by the memory of the last time they’d been there. Jest by her side, laughing, talking, trying to keep her mind off her aching, blistering feet.

There was no such friendly conversation this time. Other than Raven, who had never been the talkative sort, she wasn’t even among friends.

At the end of the maze, there was no checkered room or final challenge. The Sisters had gotten what they wanted, after all, and must not have minded so much that the four of them found their way through. There was simply an unlocked door that opened to the land of Chess.

Rolling green and gold hills, a flawless blue sky bright with warm sunlight. The air was fresh, crisp, scented with lemon. They’d arrived in a field of some kind, though in the distance Cath could make out the dark green line of a forest and tall, snow-capped mountains far beyond.

Beside her, Mary Ann gasped at the sight and ran into the grassy field, laughing. Raven launched from her shoulder and took flight, as if wanting to warm and stretch his feathers in the sun. Even Hatta seemed to perk up, his chin lifting as he led the way down the path with a lightness to his step.

Cath only felt as if she would cry. It should have been Jest beside her, welcoming her to his home.  _ Their  _ home. It should have been his fingers threaded through her as he smiled—that full, open, dimpled smile—and began to tell her all there was to look forward to in the White City. It should have been him escorting her to the border so she could be promoted to queen. It should have been him by her side as they found a place for their bakery, as they painted and decorated the storefront, as they greeted customers and baked side by side.

All those dreams, all those futures, were now simply impossible.

\---

The journey to the White City passed in a blur, with Cath hardly daring to look up from the hard packed dirt path for fear that she would burst into tears. Now that she was here in Chess, so close to that future Jest had imagined for them, every insignificant detail haunted her thoughts. 

How many times had he walked these white marble halls? Had he stopped by this very window to stare out at the White City sprawled beyond the palace? How many of these palace guards had he joked with and befriended? She was surrounded by Jest in every moment, awake and asleep, tormented by a ghost she could not hide from.

She vaguely remembered meeting the White Queen and King. Hatta had done most of the talking, explaining to them what had happened and how they planned to promote Cath into a queen to help lead the war effort. She had curtsied, mechanically, and had likely spouted some generic greeting to them out of sheer habit.

How many times had Jest stood in this very spot, bowing to his Queen and King? Although he had been a Rook, had he practiced his skills as a court joker here as well?

Cath couldn’t imagine how her lackluster first impression could have inspired any confidence in the White Queen and King, and yet it had. Their mission was approved and sanctioned by the monarchs, who had even agreed to include a Knight in her escort, along with Raven and Hatta. Mary Ann, who would only slow them down, would remain in the White City. They were to leave in three days.

It was all so very… overwhelming.

Cath secluded herself to the bedroom she’d been assigned to—a spacious, lavish room not unlike Rock Turtle Cove. She slept, mostly, and lost track of time. Here, buried in her covers, she wouldn’t be reminded of Jest. She could mourn and stew in her regrets in peace. They boiled in her, itched at her skin.

“Cath?” Mary Ann’s voice drifted through the door at some point, waking Cath.

The curtains were drawn tight so she hadn’t the slightest idea how much time had passed. When Cath didn’t respond, Mary Ann let herself in and clicked the door shut behind her.

“I… thought you might like some help packing,” Mary Ann said. Cath heard her maid’s quiet shuffling on the tile as she took in the untouched state of the room. “You haven’t even started. Has the mission been postponed?”

When Cath spoke, her voice was weak—barely a whisper. If she spoke too loud, she was sure she would break. “I’m not going.”

“Oh, Cath.” Mary Ann’s voice was gentle as she sat on the edge of Cath’s bed. “I’m worried sick about it all as well. But Raven and Hatta will be by your side the entire time. I spoke with the Knight who is to accompany you as well, and he seemed very capable. The three of them will keep you safe, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not that.”

Faintly, she knew she should still be mad at Mary Ann. She should have been furious at how friendly, how carefree her maid was acting, as if she hadn’t been partly to blame for all that had happened. But she was tired and lonely and reeling with rage, and if she did not speak, she would burst.

“Cath?” Mary Ann prompted.

“What do I know of war? I should never have come to Chess.”

The words, once unleashed, poured from Cath in a deluge. The anger, the frustration, the bitter memories worn thin by regrets and words unsaid. 

“I was just so angry! When the Sisters wished to bargain for a heart they deemed useless, I snapped. Hatta had claimed that I was simply playing with Jest’s feelings. The Sisters and their awful drawings had insisted I would marry the King. Even on the way to Chess, Jest had asked if I was sure,  _ absolutely  _ sure. I thought I was, and yet I returned to Hearts…

“The Sisters had seen how fickle I was. They truly believed Jest’s heart meant that little to me, that I would pawn it off at the first opportunity. And I was just… so tired of being unsure, so tired of betraying Jest with that unsurety. I wanted to be loyal, in the end. Even if it was too late.”

By the end, Cath’s voice had broken down into sobs. Yes, they had said it all along: it was  _ her  _ choice. Not refusing the king had been  _ her  _ choice. But had it? She had tried, hadn’t she? Objected with her parents, tried to explain herself to Mary Ann.

“I knew the king would make me miserable,” she sobbed. She was rambling, senseless. “I knew, and yet no matter how much I begged and pleaded, no one would listen. All of Hearts insisted they knew what was best, making me doubt and second guess and hesitate when I should have just followed my heart.”

The impossibilities of _ what ifs  _ were a dangerous path to tread. Perhaps nothing would have changed, but she couldn’t help but wonder. 

If she had refused the king immediately. If she had told him of her bakery, and if he had supported such an idea out of love of her pastries, then her parents would have had no choice but to agree. And once a baker, a simple working woman who could be a simple wife—

Cath shuttered the thought before it destroyed her.

“And then the moment Jest—” she faltered, her throat suddenly thick as she skipped over that thought. “The moment everyone realized that I was not just some foolish girl with a crush, everyone suddenly had the  _ gall  _ to ask what  _ I _ wanted, what _ I _ believed was best for my own future, as if I hadn’t been speaking all along, as if I hadn’t been screaming for someone to  _ listen _ .”

All of them, even Jest, had made her doubt herself. Made her wonder if perhaps she  _ was  _ mad to turn down the king.

Now she knew that Jest had only pushed her toward the king for his mission. Jest had perhaps been the only one to truly understand just how much dread and anguish Cath felt at the thought of becoming queen. He had known, and yet he had manipulated her too.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know who to listen to. I can’t even trust my own heart.” With this confession, Cath’s strength left her. She slumped into her pillows and in a whisper, she finished, “What could I possibly accomplish here? It seems to be my fate, to commit to something important only to falter at the moment it matters most.”

Mary Ann didn’t speak for a long moment, either waiting to make sure Cath was finished or trying to find the right words to respond. Finally, Mary Ann sighed heavily.

“Oh, Cath. I know my apologies do nothing to make things right, but…” her voice trailed off, and she sighed again. “It is awful noble of you, to try to end a war.”

Cath scoffed. “Did you hear a word I said? I agreed to this recklessly. Selfishly. And only now that I’m here do I see how foolish I was to think I could contribute.”

“Jest and Raven seemed awfully sure you could do something.”

Cath closed her eyes. For a moment, she let the dream envelope her: Jest’s dimpled smile, open and friendly. The amused glint in his amber eyes as he spouted some awful joke. The smooth, cool leather of his black gloves as he took her hand in his, utterly at peace by her side.

Hearts was not a land of violence. War was an abstract, far-off concept, more dream than reality. How strange Hearts must have seemed to Jest and Raven, who had been raised in an endless cycle of war.

Cath would never forget the fear of the Jabberwock swooping in for her next meal, claws gleaming and sharp. The terror, the helplessness of such mindless, unpredictable violence, of wondering if that moment might be your last. Was that how the people of Chess felt on a daily basis?

Perhaps lack of experience excused the king’s inaction at the Black and White Ball, but the tea party, the theatre, the pumpkin patch... Every other attack could have been avoided if the king had acted sooner. If only someone had  _ done something _ .

Did the people of Chess wonder the same thing? Did they mourn over the graves of their loved ones, wondering why their queen or king wouldn’t  _ do something _ ? Or had they simply given up hope that the war would ever end?

The citizens of Hearts took their peace for granted—a peace Chess and the White Queendom had never known. But Jest had been confident that she, Catherine Pinkerton, could do something to change that.

“They wanted a queen’s heart. A heart strong and brave and fearless,” Cath said after a long moment. “Perhaps my heart was like that once, but not anymore.”

But Mary Ann, logical as always, shook her head. “The Sisters wouldn't have tried to bargain with you for a queen’s heart if that was true. For what it’s worth, I think your heart was right all along. And that you should give it a second chance.”

\---

Mary Ann left not long after, leaving Catherine alone to think.

And decide.

She did want this, more than anything. She did want to act, she did want to help the citizens of the White Queendom. Not just because they were Jest’s people, but because they were people. Afraid and hopeless and all too accustomed to living a life in fear.

Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to contribute, but there was no reason not to try. It was only her life at risk. And truthfully, in that moment, that didn’t seem a price too high to pay.

She didn’t want to die, and she certainly wouldn’t risk her life during the mission if it meant also risking Hatta and Raven. But death had already taken so much, and did not quite frighten her anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Until life in Chess, Cath could have never in her wildest dreams comprehended the magnitude of just how lucky she and all of Hearts had been to live in a world without war.

In fact, as callous as it felt to even consider, Cath would have traded everything to return to those days of blissful ignorance.  _ Everything _ . Most days, she even would have traded away her memories of Jest. 

Anything— _ anything _ —to escape the violence, the blood, the endless dread and fear and utter barbarianism that war brought out in everyone. 

Worst yet, it seemed all so very… pointless.

In the months since Cath had been promoted to queen, she had spoken with troops, consoled the wounded, strategized with advisors, listened to the concerns of civilians.

No matter who she spoke with, no one knew why they were at war with the Red Queendom or what had even started the conflict in the first time. They had been at war for as long as anyone could remember, and they continued to fight simply because the Red Army had continued to fight.

Early on, Cath had suggested sending a messenger with an invitation to start peace talks. But the suggestion only garnered strange, confused looks. The Red Army would kill the messenger on sight, the others pointed out. They had no way to make it clear that the messenger meant no harm. Even if they did, the Red Queendom would assume talks of peace were just some trick. 

No, there would be no peace. War was all they knew.

Cath could hardly hold it against them when she was fighting right alongside them. Once Raven and others in the royal guard had trained her with a sword, she fought and bled and murdered along with all the rest.

After some months, Hatta caved under the pressure and burst into wild giggles in the middle of a skirmish. The hatmaker had thrown his shield to the ground and simply launched himself at a line of enemies, hacking and swinging like a man possessed. When the soldiers fell, he had taken up one of their swords and continued, dual-wielding and in an unpredictable frenzy. Even after taking a multitude of wounds, he had continued onward. 

Hatta was still recovering in the medical ward. When he was conscious, he spoke only in wild, incoherent sentences and nonsensical turns of phrase. Cath had, however, managed to decipher enough of his ramblings to guess at what had been the final straw toward the Sisters’ prophesized madness. Apparently, he had seen the most horrid monstrosity in all of Chess and Hearts to ever sit atop a person’s head: a black, plain hat with a rounded crown, which he had referred to as a bowler hat, among other more colorful terms.

_ Mad. _

Not that it held any significance, this final fortelling. Hatta was only one of hundreds driven to such madness. Hundreds more, as martyred as Jest in the name of their kingdom. As for Raven, it seemed his piece of the prophecy held the least ceremony of them all. On the battlefield, they each committed more murders than minutes in the day.

Time, cruel as ever, made each day stretch like weeks and years until Cath was certain she had always been here, fighting an endless war. The swing of her blade became like second nature, along with the lethal result of meeting its edge. Each night, she dreamt in red. 

\---

Until the day the White Queendom claimed victory.

\---

They had won.

Victory seemed a pointless thing, and yet there it was.

There was no revalery, no rejoicing in the streets. Peace was a foreign concept; an unknown. 

For the first time as far as anyone could remember, the people, wary, watched the sun set on a world without war. 

\---

While she slept, Time set to work gathering the pieces.

_ Ink black against snow. _

Cath’s dreams spun backward, then forward; or perhaps the opposite of this. In scraps and fragments, cycling and repeating and starting over.

_ White petals atop a brown sill.   _

She returned to unfamiliar places she had been before; or perhaps she had never been there at all. The cobwebs of her dreams stitched together or apart, together and apart. 

_ Brown bark against stark yellow fruit. _

When the board reset, Cath awoke.

\---

Nothing had changed about the sunlight soaking through Cath’s curtain. It glowed fuzzy orange, as usual, and as Cath blinked into awareness she could not, for the life of her, remember why this day was any different. 

Another day of fighting, no doubt. Of blood and death and crying. She thought of this for several moments before she remembered the rest.

They had  _ won _ . 

There would be peace talks, now. The Red Queendom had no more commanders, no more captains or lieutenants or soldiers. They had no choice but to listen and agree to peace.

The door slammed open. Cath shot to her feet, yanking a weapon from under her pillow. She tensed, ready to fight--

But it was only Mary Ann, her face red and flustered and gasping for breath.

“Cath! Oh, Cath. Hurry; get dressed!”

“What is it?

Cath lowered her knife and allowed Mary Ann to help her dress. Somehow, her old maid even managed to find a halfway decent dress that hadn’t been eaten by moths in all the months of disuse. No matter how Cath pressed Mary Ann to explain the sudden wake up, her maid would not speak.

“You have to see for yourself,” was all she would say. “You won’t believe me otherwise. Stars above, it’s a  _ miracle _ .” 

Despite the hurry, Mary Ann still gave extra care to Cath’s dress and appearance. She combed out the knots from her hair, applied rouge to her cheeks, fluffed her dress. 

“Is there some special occasion I should be aware of?” Cath asked, suspicious.

Mary Ann’s smile grew. “I think this one is best as a surprise.”

Mary Ann swung open the door for Cath, and she stepped out into a world of  _ life _ . 

Over the months, she had grown used to quiet halls in the castle. With so many dead, the infirmaries held more occupants than the whole of the castle residents.

Now, however, the halls were bustling with soldiers--nearly each one grinning from ear to wild ear. They shouted, they laughed, they hugged each other and swung around in circles. Cath couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard the noise from her bedroom. Pure  _ joy  _ in every face.

Were they celebrating victory? Where had this celebration been the night before?

She turned to Mary Ann, the question clear in her eyes. Mary Ann only nodded back at the soldiers, smiling as if to say  _ look. The answer is there. _

Cath looked again. And this time, she saw it.

There, standing against the wall in the embrace of another man, she recognized Anthony--a man who had fought beside her in the Battle of the Black Forest. He had died there, gutted. 

A few paces off, Lady Erza--one of the Bishops who had died holding Ivory Keep from a hundred enemies. She was talking animatedly with Clara, her betrothed--a soldier who had died in the battle on the same day.

More faces she recognized. Rand, the Knight that had accompanied her, Raven and Hatta on the journey to be promoted to Queen. Aisha, the ever-smiling archer who could shoot a needle’s eye from a hundred paces. Ike, who brought his binoculars to battle so that he could birdwatch in the rare moments of peace between skirmishes. 

An entire hallway of familiar faces; of ghosts who had died in battle. Some she had held as the life faded from them, while others she had not heard of their demise until days after the battle ended. And so, so many more that she did not recognize at all, but who clearly knew and loved her own dear companions.

The dead had returned to life. 

Cath spun on Mary Ann, eyes wide. “ _ How-- _ ”

“We don’t know. The council has been in a tizzy all morning trying to figure it out. Hatta once told me that Time works differently in Chess, so perhaps…” Mary Ann’s voice trailed off thoughtfully.

A strangled cry escaped Cath’s lips. Did she dare hope? Was this resurrection limited to those who had died on their home soil in Chess?

“Did you— Did you—” Cath managed, choking as she tried to find the words. The sounds of the hallway seemed to fall away around her. “Have you seen—”

Mary Ann held her gaze. And nodded. “In the west wing sitting room. Raven is there as well. They’re waiting for you.”

She took off running. The crowd, perhaps sensing her urgency, parted for her--or perhaps she flew over them in her haste. She didn’t dare hope. Didn’t date believe she might be so lucky, so exceptional, so  _ impossible _ . 

That such an impossible thing might happen—

The door had been left open. She stood in the doorway, rooted in place as if an invisible wall barred the threshold.

“Jest,” she breathed.

She said it very quietly, hardly a whisper of air, yet somehow he heard her and turned. Lemon-yellow eyes met hers.

All the pain and love and longing—pent up during those endless torturous months at war—flooded back with such overwhelming intensity that Cath swayed where she stood. The memories of their time together, of all the promises and mistakes leading up the last time she saw him… each moment hit her and tore through her body like a lightning strike.

“Jest,” she said again, her voice breaking. She ran for him, leaping into his arms and squeezing him tightly. “Oh, Jest, I don’t care if this is just another dream. It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

His body was warm, solid. His scent surrounded her as she squeezed and squeezed, letting it sink in that this was real. He was real. This was really happening. She didn’t know how or why or what had happened to result in such an impossibility, but it was  _ real _ .

Jest stiffened under her embrace. Cath immediately pulled back, her thoughts racing. She had been so excited to see him, she hadn’t even considered how he must have felt about all this. Disoriented to suddenly be alive again, a year later? Angry with Cath for what had happened the last time he saw her? He had been killed because of her—he had every right to be upset, to hate her for all that had happened after her choice to go back for Mary Ann.

It was near agony to let him go, and she felt immediately cold without the warmth of his contact. The sad shadow of her broken heart trembled, but she managed to look up at him.

But he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t happy, or sad, or… or anything, really. He simply looked confused.

“Jest…?” she ventured.

Raven fluttered over to land on Jest’s shoulder. 

“With the war won and the board of Chess reset, our Pieces were returned by Time, and yet…” Raven began, “As for all that happened beyond Chessian shores, it seems his memory is… nevermore.”

Realization swept through Cath, sharp and stabbing like a knife through cake. “You don’t… Remember me?”

Somehow, this was more painful than Cath could have ever anticipated. Perhaps it was because this pain was sharp and solid compared to the constant dull sorrow of mourning she’d grown accustomed to. Perhaps it was because this realization came so tightly proximate to the overwhelming joy that he was  _ alive _ .

Because if he didn’t remember anything about his mission in Hearts, if he didn’t remember their time together….

He didn’t love her anymore.

She knew she should be happy to have him back, knew it was foolish and selfish to let her weak, fragile heart fixate on something so insignificant compared to the return of his life. But she had hoped. Hoped and hoped and hoped with all her frantic heart for such an impossible thing. She couldn’t control her heart any more than her love for him.

Jest glanced at Raven, no doubt baffled and unsure what to make of her reaction. Then his face shifted into a friendly dimpled smile, open and genuine. Her heart trembled.

“I do apologize for my forgetfulness, my lady,” he said, reaching to take her hand in his own. “Raven has only just begun to catch me up.” With this, he brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Jest, dear Jest, who was clearly trying to comfort her, although she was nothing more than a stranger. Her anguish must have been terribly obvious. It was so like him, to offer comfort to someone he did not know.

Suddenly, she was mortified as she thought of how this all must have looked to him. How awful of a… a first impression, so to speak, for her to throw herself at him like that! And then to be nearly at the point of tears, by all appearances a hysterical woman. He looked at ease, but his body language had always been far less transparent than her own. She could imagine easily enough how uncomfortable he must be.

The thought had her yanking her hand away. Tears pooled behind her eyes but she willed them not to fall. She fell into a clumsy curtsey, too shaken to offer something more refined.

“The fault is all mine. It was—it was quite rude of me to behave so, when I did not realize your situation. I’m… I’m so very sorry,” she finished, and then, unable to take it any longer, she spun on her heel and dashed for the door.

She did not stop until she reached her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, its been a while but i'm BACK. So basically this fic is me being lazy and wanting to rush through summary to get to THIS. More than once it's mentioned that time moves differently in Chess, so I had this whole headcanon about Time would reset the board when the endless war finally ends. just like a chessboard, the pieces get reset once the game is over. 
> 
> It was all i could think about for days. But when i originally sat down to write this fic, i realized i needed to write all this setup about her getting to Chess in the first place. and i had so many feelings about how everything played out for poor Cath (we all love Jest but he gaslighted her just as much as everyone else!) so it ended up being a catharsis rant too. But it was all for this. the revival (and upcoming fluff). >:3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can now add "shameless flirting and fluff" to my list of tags

By the time Cath had steadied her crying, she felt rather foolish.

Lost memories aside, how could she be unhappy? Jest was  _ alive _ , along with all the friends and comrades she had fought alongside during the months of war. After some time to reflect, she understood that Jest’s affection seemed an almost unfairly small price to pay for such an impossible miracle. She could hear the celebrations still echoing through the halls and in the courtyard below, now that she was listening to it.

She and Jest had made it work once. Perhaps they could do it again.

And if not… well, he was alive. That was still a greater gift than she had ever imagined possible. It would be enough.

She had changed so much during these months of war, after all. She was no longer the dainty, delicate Lady Pinkerton from Hearts. Here she had grown accustomed to practical dresses for the war room rather than frilly, beautiful laces and petticoats—Gowns like the red one she had worn at the Black and White Ball, which had attracted Jest’s attention in the first place.

Although, thinking back to the glow of pride and wonder in Jest’s expression when she had scared off the Jabberwock, and again when she had claimed its head… perhaps such things wouldn’t matter to him. This man had believed she had a heart strong enough to become a queen and win wars. 

Now that the war was won, she supposed she was once again a simple pawn. Jest’s title of Rook, on the other hand, was equal to that of Marquess. Oh,  _ stuff and nonsense! _ She had never considered before that moment how their situation of social standing had become reversed. 

In Hearts, Cath had pined for a man below her station. Now, to pine at a man so far  _ above  _ her station seemed so terribly hopeless. What if Chess was just as rigorous about one’s place in society as Hearts had been?  What if Jest would want nothing to do with one of her standing? Would he think she was after him only for his title and station? 

Had he felt this same way when pining after her?

She truly believed that Jest hadn’t chased her for her title or wealth, but that had been in Hearts where their priorities had been quite different.

“It is enough,” Cath reminded herself, drawing in a deep breath before her thoughts could spiral further. “ _ It is enough that he is alive _ .”

She was surprised by the relief she felt saying the words aloud. She was even more surprised to feel that much of it was guilt—a lingering self-blame she had carried ever since Jest’s fall. It had been easy to blame Mary Ann at first, but truthfully, Mary Ann had only played a small role in all the actions and mistakes that had led up to that night in Peter’s pumpkin patch.

“It is enough,” she said once more.

***

At around noon, Cath had regained enough of her composure that she felt ready to join the others in celebration. Someone had arranged a more formal party, with refreshments and games set up all throughout the castle gardens.

Cath hadn’t seen Mary Ann since that morning, but the Hearts tradition of changing outfits three times a day was one she was happy to go without. And so, wearing the same dress as earlier and reciting in her head a promise to act at least halfway sane around Jest should she see him again, Cath headed toward the festivities.

Almost immediately, she fell into friendly conversation with Lady Erza and her fiancée—both among the revived. They, like everyone else, had no idea what could have brought them back. Unlike Jest though, they seemed to have retained their memories. It seemed that only Jest’s time in Hearts had been lost during the revival.

The ladies invited her to a game of croquette. They had been playing for nearly half an hour when Cath happened to glance up and see Jest across the courtyard, watching her. When he caught her eye, he winked.

Cath flushed and averted her gaze. Of course he would be there! In her rush of being reunited with lost friends, she had nearly forgotten about the morning’s embarrassment. 

All throughout lunch, whenever Cath glanced up, she would catch his mischievous, inviting eyes on her. Or perhaps the  _ invitational  _ part was no more than Cath’s hopeful imagination. Perhaps he was simply curious. He didn’t try to approach, after all, even though he certainly could have joined them for croquette if he needed an excuse to be near.

Surely he wouldn’t be shy. Jest, shy? Never that. But Cath’s imagination caught on the possibility, and the dreamer she had once been began to weave fantasies of Jest pining after her from afar, his heart aching with a desire to make their interaction absolutely perfect lest he fudge it all up. 

Stuff and nonsense, of course. If Mary Ann were here, she would have pointed out that it was much more logical to assume he was engaged in conversations of his own. Having been out of Chess for so long, surely he had a lot of people to catch up with. Moreover, it was equally likely that he was simply keeping an eye on her so that he might avoid bumping into her accidentally and having to endure another imprudent display. 

Cath had meandered toward the refreshment table as she mulled over it. Now, standing in front of the gorgeous array of treats, she thought of baking for the first time since joining the Chessian war effort. If she hadn’t spent the morning pouting, she might have prepared a tart or some macaroons to contribute.

“I must say, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a finer selection of sweets,” said a voice beside her.

Cath recognized his voice before she turned. It was Jest, of course, dressed in all black. Here in Chess, he was no longer the court joker, so he did not wear his usual black tri-tip hat and his eyes were clean of kohl. Instead, he was dressed almost formal—like a proper representative of his court, albeit more casual and relaxed than the shift-backed nobles of Hearts.

After a moment to realize that he was  _ there _ ,  _ talking to her _ , the words he had spoken finished registering in Cath’s mind. His eyes were fixed on her—not the desserts. As if to imply he was not speaking of the sweets on the table. 

“S-Sir Jest!” she stammered belatedly, utterly unprepared for this moment despite having thought of it for much of the afternoon. Heat clawed up her neck and no doubt made her cheeks red as cherry pie. She gave a hurried curtsy, determined to give a better impression this time around. “Are you enjoying the afternoon?”

His eyes didn’t leave hers as a stunning, dimpled smile spread across her face. Cath’s heart nearly stopped.

“Quite so, yes,” he answered. He leaned closer, planting one hand on the table beside her. “I must admit, I quite enjoy seeing a beautiful lady so flustered over me. Tell me, what did I do to win your heart the first time?”

Cath was sure her knees would turn to jelly. “Raven… mentioned me then, I assume?” she managed.

“He did, although I will not forgive him for failing to mention how absolutely stunning you are wearing a blush as pink as your dress.”

Cath covered her burning face in both hands, too overwhelmed to know how to answer him.

“On second thought, don’t give me any hints. I would like nothing more than to figure it out again for myself,” Jest said, undeterred by her lack of a response. He snapped his fingers. “Roses? Chocolates? Ah, jokes! Of course. Tell me, why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“You can’t use the same riddle both times!” Cath objected, although now she was grinning wildly. It had been a long, long time since she had thought back to their first meeting in the woods, and longer still since she recalled those moments with anything other than an aching heart. “I would have thought you more imaginative than that.”

Jest’s eyes lit up. “So it was my jokes! I knew it. After all, who could help but fall in love with my peerless wit and humor?”

This made Cath scoff. “Your awful puns, more like.”

“Oh, then you’ll love this one.” He leaned closer. When he spoke, his voice softer than before. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

He was so close. Nearly close enough to kiss. Cath found herself leaning toward him as well, magnetized by his dimpled smile and his playful, affectionate yellow eyes. The warmth radiating from his body, from the presence of him here and alive and well.

“Why?” she managed.

“Because neither is ever approached without caws.”

Cath snorted in laughter, then immediately pulled back and buried her face again, embarrassed. 

“Oh!” Jest said. Cath felt his fingers brush along her wrists before encircling them and gently tugging them away from her face. She saw that his entire expression was lit up with joy as he held her hands in his own. “ _ Oh! _ I knew I could count on myself to have an absolutely fantastic taste in courtable ladies. I simply must hear that again. At least twice every day, if I can.”

“And once before breakfast?” Cath finished without thinking, and this time it was Jest’s turn to flush red. Cath felt her cheeks burn to match. “That it… that is what you said the first time, at least.”

She cringed as she said it, realizing how it must sound to him. When it came to the memories of their time together, she held all the cards. It seemed cruel to remind him of it.

“That was improper of me. I do apologize,” she said softly, pulling her hands away from him and folding them in front of her. Her gaze dropped as well and she watched her fingers turn white-knuckled as they squeezed together.

“Whatever for?”

“It’s rather cruel of me to make an inside joke that you… you no longer remember.”

The familiar reflection of their first conversation, which had initially filled her heart with warmth, suddenly echoed cold and hollow in her ears. Surely he didn’t appreciate being compared to someone else, even if it happened to be a previous version of his own self. 

Jest hummed thoughtfully. Taking a polite hold of her elbow, he began to lead her into the hedge maze so that they might have some privacy from the main gathering.

“I’m not jealous of myself, if that’s what concerns you,” he began once they’d turned the first corner of the maze. “In fact, I rather admire the devilish rake for ensnaring such a marvelously clever woman. Without his efforts, you would still be in Hearts. I would have been cursed to endure a persistent, unexplainable feeling that I was missing out on someone quite breathtaking.”

As he spoke, he glanced sidelong at her with unabashed flirtation. A devilish rake indeed!

His infectious smile caught on Cath. “You did answer the riddle differently this time,” Cath pointed out. “I daresay you and your past self have conspired against me.”

“He and I shall continue to do so, until I solve the riddle of how he managed to win your kiss—and your heart.” He winked.

Cath gaped at him. Jest had always been bold, but to hear him so forward with his intentions came as a shock.

He had not been so quick or bold with his flirtations before. Early in their acquaintanceship, his words had been forward, yes, but still measured and carefully chosen. He had been trying to convince her to marry the king, after all. She had been a proper lady, and he, a mere court joker.

But now he knew none of that. Perhaps this was a blessing to spare him from those drawn out weeks of agonizing, dreadful longing for some miraculous answer to a situation doomed from the start. All those weeks of wasted time, of guarded words and cautious tip-toeing… here, in Chess, they could avoid all that and simply be together.

But would it be the same this time? Perhaps she was simply so used to a life of dread and fear that by this time, this day of unimaginable happiness and fortune seemed an impossible thing that would not— _ could not _ —last.

Despite everything, the doubt remained.

Jest must have read something in her expression, because when he spoke his voice was unsure. “Catherine?”

Cath realized she had stopped walking. Jest stood a pace away, turned to face her. It took her a moment to realize he had used her name. Raven must have caught him up on that much, at least, and she was infinitely grateful that he had chosen this address instead of the more formal  _ Lady Pinkerton _ . 

“It’s… rather terrifying, I suppose,” Cath admitted, picking her words as carefully as choice fruit for a pie. She turned away from him and settled onto a garden bench, mostly as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “I keep thinking I must be exactly as I was the first time, or else nothing will work out the same.”

For the first time of their afternoon together, Jest’s ever-present air of cool confidence faded. He sunk onto the bench beside her and said on a sigh, “I feel the same.”

Cath lifted her head, eyes wide. It was such an unfamiliar tone and expression from Jest that it struck Cath that despite all they had been through, she actually hadn’t known him for long. And for most of that time together, he had been lying to her—playing the part of a fool and waiting for a chance to steal her queen’s heart.

“But I dreamt of you,” Jest began, “The night before I woke up, revived or reset by time, whatever impossible thing you might call it. I didn’t know who you were, yet I dreamt of you. You had something of mine. I didn’t know what; I only knew I would have to chase you if I wished to get it back.”

Cath’s eyes widened. She remembered dreaming of lemon trees, of fragrant citrus and playful golden eyes.

He winked. “I’m beginning to understand what it is you’ve stolen from me,” he said, his typical boldness returned. His lips twitched into a familiar flirtatious smile that exuded confidence… along with something soft and shy and hopeful. 

He had given her his heart by the treacle well—happily, willingly. And it seemed that despite being turned back by Time, that much, at least, had stayed true. Her heart soared at the thought of it.

“I must apologize, for I have no intention of returning it. A heart, once stolen, can never be taken back,” she pointed out matter-of-factly. She didn’t know where this newfound confidence had come from, only that she was smiling again and somehow sure this was the right thing to say. “But… I didn’t leave you completely heartless,” she went on, softer than before. “You’ve taken my heart as well.”

Jest’s face lit up. Unthinking, her hand reached out and met his halfway. His fingers—ungloved, unfamiliar—entwined with hers. 

“Perhaps fate has plans for us yet,” he said.

The suggestion in his words had Cath’s cheeks flushing red once more. Even now, did she dare hope?

Cath swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course she would hope. There was no one in all of Chess and Hearts that she trusted more than Jest. All that was left was to take that leap. So she said, “You once told me that if we could do it again, without trickery, without lies… you would want nothing more in the world than to… to… court me, for real this time.”

For a moment, Jest seemed stricken. He didn’t know about his trickery or lies, after all—he had mercifully forgotten that anguish. But if they were to make this work, they would have to be honest. From the start. She would catch him up on all she knew, and they would promise to accept their past and live beyond it.

Perhaps he read this promise in her expression, because he softened. Jest lifted her hand to his lips and brushed against her knuckles. “Catherine,” he breathed against her skin. “I would like nothing more in the world than the honor of courting you. For real this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had more time and patience, i would have loved to draw this out. More on Cath reigniting her bakery dream, more of her reconnecting with fallen comrades, and... probably a slower burn with Jest. but I also really want to just finish this fic and I'm happy enough with it as is. so enjoy! one more chapter to go :)


	7. Epilogue

For three glorious days, Cath couldn’t have been more blissfully happy.

On the first day, Jest showered her with roses and poetry, took her on dates around the Queendom, introduced her to old friends and favorite haunts. He stole a kiss, then another, as he dropped her off at her room after a full day spent hand in hand.

On the second day, Cath dug out some old cookbooks from the castle library and baked a cake for the first time in months. When Cath shared her dessert at the lunch table that evening, Mary Ann made an offhand comment about seeing a space available in a quaint little part of town outside the castle with the most gorgeous front windows--absolutely ideal for showing off pastries and confections.

On the third, Jest joined her bright and early in the kitchen, eager to help and learn more about her passion. Although Cath appreciated his noble intentions, she quickly found he’d be too much of a distraction for practical help. The moment she placed the tart in the oven, they found themselves in the middle of a flour fight before ending up in a tangled, happy heap on the kitchen floor.

But the peace, however wondrous, was not fated to last.

At dinner that night, just as Jest slipped his hand into hers under the table, a soldier burst into the room. The door slammed with the force of his entrance as he shouted, “Your Majesties!”

Life-saving habits did not die easily. Instinctively expecting an attack, Cath, Jest, and many others who had fought on the front lines jumped to their feet. Cath’s hand went to the sword at her hip--one she could no longer bear to go without, even in the safety of the castle.

“What is the meaning of this?” the White King demanded. 

“Your Majesties!” the soldier said again, stammering slightly. “I do apologize, but--the Red Queendom has attacked!”

Startled gasps and murmurs broke out around the table. Cath’s chest compressed and thudded as the world seemed to drop away around her. Voices turned to muffled sound around her, as if she was hearing them from underwater. Faintly, she felt Jest squeeze her hand.

War.

Just as the board reset and the pieces returned to their Red and White Queendoms, so did the land’s neverending hunger for war.

There would be no bakery with Mary Ann. No wedding with Jest. No time for any of these things--not when the entire Queendom would be preparing for war.

_ She would have to go back to war. _

She would have to see her friends fight and die again. She may have to see Jest die again. And if she were to be less lucky this time around than the first, she might die as well--and not be granted the same revival afforded to the people of Chess.

But if they managed victory again…

She thought of her three days of perfect, blissful happiness. Of kissing Jest in her doorway, of smearing flour on his cheek. Of baking the perfect lemon tart in the kitchen. Of envisioning her bakery dream alongside Mary Ann. Of opening the most famous and renouned bakery in all of Chess. 

For those three days of happiness… yes. It would be worth every second. For those three days, she would do everything in her power to bring the White Queendom victory again, and again, and again.


End file.
